


Yesterday my Life was Filled with Rain

by Dancains



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: (lmao), AU where Ed didn't murder Kristen, AU where both Ed and Oswald are much more decent people than in canon, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Discussions of past abusive relationships and situations that could be read as dubious consent, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nipple Piercings, Non-graphic descriptions of animal death, Now with a playlist, Possible forensic pseudo-science, Semi-Public Sex, Tattoos, cute dates, mentions of canon character deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-01-30 06:44:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12648261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancains/pseuds/Dancains
Summary: As the buzzing needle painted red into the flowers on his skin, Ed wondered if this was what the first pangs of real emotional closure felt like.





	1. Say a Little Prayer for You

As Ed pushed open the door to Fish Mooney's Tattoo Parlor, his arrival signaled by the chime of a small bell, he felt more nervous than ever before, or at least in recent memory. Even being interviewed for his job at the police department hadn't been this nerve racking. Any last chance to run was squashed when the man behind the counter looked up from what he was doing and greeted him, albeit unenthusiastically. 

 "Hi, I have an appointment for three o'clock," Ed stuttered, ignoring the feeling that he was being sized up by the stranger. The receptionist was large and stocky, and unsurprisingly, heavily tattooed, with his short hair combed into something resembling a 50's quiff. Ed thought to himself that he looked like the type of guy who would unironically go by the nickname "Butch," or something equally macho.

 "With what artist?" the receptionist asked him gruffly.

 "With, uh, Penguin." It's sounded almost silly to Ed's ears, now that he had said it aloud. The tattoo artist had only been listed as such on the shop's website. 

 "Alright then, you can have a seat and he'll come grab you in a minute."

 Ed nodded, and sank into one of the vintage, upholstery covered chairs near the front door. He had no idea what type of person he was expecting as his tattoo artist. They had sent e-mails back and forth about Ed's design, of course. But there hadn't been a picture of him on the website like the other artists, nor on any other social media the shop had--Ed didn't even know he was a "him" until the receptionist had said so. 

 Regardless, Ed had been drawn in by his sizable portfolio. Most of Penguin's work was in the American traditional style, with thick bold lines and simple designs, drawing on vintage motifs. Even with the simplicity, the tattoo artist rendered most of his designs in bright, beautiful color, the complex shading evidently done with care. Ed appreciated how neat and clean every single line in his work was, and the time and precision he must have put into each tattoo. 

 He let out a deep breath, allowing himself to study the tattoo parlor's eclectic interior. The walls were a deep scarlet, or at least the few inches not covered completely in flash sheets, posters, photos, and various knick-knacks. They matched the bright red neon fish skeleton on the front of the shop that Ed had been able to spot from down the street. Something down-tempo, backed by 80's synthesizers, played faintly over the speakers. The floor was covered in stark black and white tile, like an old-fashioned barber shop. Ed wondered if they were original to the building, which looked quite old from outside, but was evidently kept in nice condition.

 He was so preoccupied with drinking in all the details of the new environment that he almost didn't notice a man approaching him, his hand extended for a handshake. 

 "Hi, you must be Ed."

 Ed took his hand. "Yes. Do I call you  _Penguin_?" he asked without thinking.  _What a stupid thing to say_ , he mentally reprimanded himself.

 To his surprise, the tattoo artist laughed good-naturedly. "Sure. Or Oswald--whatever you prefer. We've all got our nicknames here, adds a bit of mystery I suppose. Though, nobody knows what Fish's real name is, and, frankly, we're all too afraid to ask at this point."

 Ed laughed, suddenly much more at ease. Oswald was much more soft-spoken than he had been expecting.

 Oswald moved with a slight limp as he led him over to a plastic covered bench, where Ed sat as Oswald readied some of his supplies. 

 Ed couldn't help but study him as he was preoccupied. He had inky black hair styled into something choppy and asymmetrical, and a pair of shiny metal studs in each of his earlobes. His frayed tee shirt sported the shop's fish skeleton logo on the front, and left two almost-complete sleeves of black and gray tattoos on full display. Though all of them, or at least the majority, must have been tattooed by someone else, they had a similar style to Oswald's own portfolio, sans the color palette. Lean muscle shifted under the pale, decorated skin as he made adjustments to his equipment.

 "Why don't you pop that off." Oswald suggested, gesturing towards Ed's shirt. As Ed undid the buttons of his checked dress shirt, he absentmindedly thought that it would have made more sense to wear a tee shirt, simply as something that was faster to remove. 

 "So, first tattoo, huh?" Oswald asked conversationally.

 Ed nodded. "Yup."

 "Just so you know, if anyone told you it's not gonna hurt--they're lying through their damn teeth."

 Ed chuckled. Oswald glanced over at him, eyes lingering as he undid the last button and slipped the shirt off his shoulders, quickly pulling off the white undershirt he had been wearing underneath. He watched Oswald pull on a pair of disposable gloves.

 "I'm going to have to shave the area you're getting tattooed, even if it doesn't look like there's hair there, it's sort of a standard procedure."

 Ed nodded again, "I've read that." He was usually uncomfortable with strangers touching him, but this was one of the times he was prepared ahead of time and knew what to expect. He liked that Oswald was explaining what he was doing.

 His gloved hand was surprisingly warm, and not unpleasant, as he rubbed a small amount of liquid soap onto Ed's left pectoral, right below his collar bone, and methodically shaved the area with a disposable razor. Then he wiped the soap off with a dry paper towel.

 "You picked a great design for a first tattoo. Here, how's the stencil look? If you want any last minute adjustments, now's the time." He showed the piece of paper to Ed.

 "No, it looks perfect." Ed breathed, his mouth curling into a nervous smile. His eyes traced the outline of a pair of eyeglasses, beautifully rendered and offset by two roses at the opposite corners. Oswald grinned back at him, clearly proud of his work. Ed hadn't realized he had been leaning in so close--he could see some kind of dark make-up lining Oswald's pale eyes and long lashes. Ed didn't know any men who wore make-up, or at least that he could think of. He found himself oddly transfixed at the sight.

 "Where did you want the top of the design to come to exactly?" Oswald asked him suddenly, breaking his reverie. His fingers hovered over Ed's skin. 

 Ed showed him with his hands, before Oswald rubbed something else on his chest, clear with the consistency of deodorant. "This helps the stencil stick," he had explained.

 He verbally guided Oswald as he carefully pressed the stencil to his skin, before peeling back the paper and leaving a purple outline in its place. 

 "Check that out in the mirror, just so we know the placement's right."

 Ed got up from the bench, only now realizing how much taller than Oswald he was. He turned to the full length mirror on the wall behind them and studied himself contemplatively. The tattoo outline was strange and foreign on his skin but at the same time felt oddly familiar, like it had been there for much longer than a minute. Maybe because Ed had been planning this for so long. He felt a stir of melancholy thinking of what the glasses represented, one that wold have been stronger, even unbearable, just months before. He turned back to Oswald with newfound resolve. 

 "Since you're the only customer in here right now, and I'm feeling pretty charitable, you can put on some music you like, if you want." Oswald told him as he sat back down, handing him a cell phone with a long cord plugged into it, the other end probably connected to the speaker system. 

 "Oh, thank you." 

 A music app was open on the phone, the current song playing was something Ed didn't recognized, by a group with a name that sounded like it should have been an order of nuns. He typed a few words into the app's search bar and found an "oldies" playlist touting mid-century pop, rock, and soul classics. The music in the shop abruptly shifted as the first few strains of Aretha Franklin's "I Say a Little Prayer" crackled over the radio. 

 Ed was glad to see Oswald's head nodding slightly in time with the music as he organized his cups of colored ink and made some final adjustments on his tattoo machine.

 "That's a coil machine, right? Not a rotary. Did you know that the first tattoo machine was based off of Thomas Edison's design for an electric pen? Sorry, you probably knew that already."

 "Yes, it is. And, no, I didn't know that, to be honest. You certainly did some reading."

 "I just enjoy learning about how different things work. Actually, I co-authored a research paper on the forensic analysis of tattoos and tattoo ink back when I was in school." Ed hoped he wasn't over-sharing. He probably sounded foolish in front of someone who had much more practical experience with what they were talking about.

 "Wow." Oswald looked genuinely intrigued. "What do you do for a living, if you don't mind me asking?"

 "I don't mind. I'm a forensic scientist, I work at the GCPD."

 "Huh. A couple of Fish's regular clients are cops, but no forensic scientists, that I know of. Guess I'm just special."

 Ed didn't know what to say back. He smiled. "I guess so."

 Oswald gestured for him to lie back on the padded bench. "You can grab the armrest if you want something to hold on to." He patted Ed's shoulder amiably, "Here goes."

 He dipped the needle in a cup of black ink, and positioned it over Ed's chest before stepping down on the foot pedal. 

 Ed could feel it immediately as a sharp buzzing filled the room. He clenched his teeth; it was certainly painful, but not completely unbearable.

 As Oswald worked, occasionally pausing to wipe away excess ink with a paper towel, Ed thought about the scientific process that he was undergoing, the tiny pulsating needles depositing ink under layers of dermis.  _Fascinating._

 Oswald hovered closely over him, blocking out the ceiling's harsh light, except when he shifted to dip the needle in ink again. His feathery hair was silhouetted by the fluorescent glare above, his faces scrunched in concentration. Ed noticed that he smelled nice, emanating the lemony scent of disinfectant, with something almost like leather underneath. A Roy Orbison song came over the stereo next. Despite the constant stinging pain, Ed felt oddly relaxed.

 It was at least twenty minutes later, as they were taking a short break, when Oswald asked him about the design. 

"You were pretty exact about the style of the glasses. Do they belong to someone? A relative maybe?" The question was tentative, like he didn't want to pry.

 "My girlfriend."

 Ed thought he saw a flicker of disappointment on Oswald's face. He must have misinterpreted it.

 "That's very romantic." Oswald replied politely.

 "Uh...actually, it's probably different than what you're thinking. She, Kristen, died...six months ago, now. It's a memorial tattoo--I suppose that would be the term."

 Oswald looked up abruptly from what he was doing. He placed a firm, reassuring hand on Ed's shoulder. "It's a really beautiful way to honor her memory."

 Ed thought there was more genuine sympathy in his voice than most of the people who had offered him condolences in the past few months. He hadn't cried for so long, but he felt the itching threat of tears at the corners of his eyes. 

 "Thank you." he felt his voice crack.

 Unexpectedly, Oswald held out his other arm, showing Ed the underside of it, his open palm extended like an offering. A delicately rendered vase of flowers took up most of his forearm. The flowers teeming out of it appeared to be lilies. 

 "My mother passed away three years ago. We didn't live in that great of a part of town...she got caught up in a gang shooting. It was a senseless act of violence. She wasn't even involved--just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Her favorite flowers were lilies." He smiled sadly, before noticing the tear that was rolling down Ed's cheek.

 "I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't ha--" Oswald started.

 "No," Ed interrupted him. "Thank you. It's just--" he wiped his face with the back of his hand, "It's good to talk to someone who understands. Is all." 

 Oswald nodded empathetically. He gave Ed's shoulder another comforting squeeze and handed him a box of tissues from the nearby shelf. 

 After a few minutes he told Oswald that he's ready to start again. The receptionist was in the back room, Ed was glad they were the only two people in the main room of the shop.

 He lied back down. As the buzzing needle painted red into the flowers on his skin, Ed wondered if this was what the first pangs of real emotional closure felt like.

 

When they were finally finished, and Ed had spent a long couple of minutes checking out the finished tattoo in the mirror, Oswald walked him through the steps of aftercare. Ed tried to focus carefully on what he was being told, despite the exhilarated, buzzed feeling he was experiencing.

 "You caught us on a day where we're a bit short-staffed," Oswald concluded, "I can ring you up." He jerked a a thumb towards the front counter.

 "Sounds good."

 Oswald noticed him studying the glass case of body jewelry as he went to print up the bill. 

 "We're currently having a 25% off sale on all piercings and accompanied body jewelry...If you had any secret burning desire to get your belly button pierced, now would certainly be the time."

 Ed wasn't sure if he was entirely joking. His eyes caught the simple metal studs in Oswald's ears. The post-tattoo euphoria was definitely getting to his head; Ed barely recognized himself in his moment of spontaneity. 

 "Do you do just, uh, regular ear piercings? Like yours."

 "Of course. If you're going to, it's definitely better to get them done at a place like this instead of one of those little shops at the mall, even if it's a bit more expensive."

 "Okay. I only want one, though."

 Oswald quirked an eyebrow. "In which ear?"

 "Oh, sorry, no, I just meant one in each ear. Not like--" he gestured towards Oswald's piercings.

 Oswald laughed under his breath. "Sure thing. Our regular guy, Zsasz, isn't here, but I'm a licensed piercer, as well." 

 "You're really a jack of all trades."

 Oswald shrugged, the corner of his mouth quirking into a smile.

 He had Ed pick out a pair of stud earrings from the display case, before he brought him back to a different station with a chair, and explaining the process. Compared to what Ed had just undergone, the slide of the hypodermic needle was practically painless. 

 When he was finally ready to step out of the shop, he was carrying a plastic bag with ointment for the tattoo and aftercare lotion for his ears, having spent a bit more money than he originally planned, as well as having tipped Oswald generously. This was one of the occasions that Ed was glad his forensics job paid as well as it did.

 Oswald went to open the door for him, then hesitated.

 "Here--" he dug something out of his pocket, "--my card. In case you want to get anything else done."

 Ed knew his contact information was on the tattoo parlor's website, but he figured it was a courtesy. He took the business card with his free hand.

 "Thank you. For everything." It had been a surprisingly emotional afternoon.

 "Of course. Have a great rest of your day, Ed." 

 Ed nodded at him thankfully, and left before he could say anything else to possibly embarrass himself.

 Once he was sitting alone in his car, he studied the card. Surprisingly, the artist's full name was printed on it-- _Oswald Cobblepot_ , above the shop's information. A picture of a penguin took up almost half the business card, with a tattoo-style rose adorning the white part of it's belly. Ed flipped over the card absentmindedly, to the plain back side. He didn't know what he had been expecting.

 

Over the course of the weekend he followed Oswald's aftercare instructions to the letter, for both the tattoo and his newly pierced ears. By mid-morning on Monday, he had nearly forgotten about both, completely engrossed in his work. 

 Jim and Harvey had come into the lab, and were quizzing him on some newly found hair samples that seemed to link two of their separate cases. Ed had suspected before that Jim, or perhaps Lee, had spoken to Harvey some time in the wake of Kristen's death. The usual eye-rolling and annoyance that invariably seemed to accompany any of his conversations with Ed has noticeably declined in the time since. Ed knew it must have been a considerable effort on Bullock's part.

 He was slightly startled when Harvey stopped what was saying mid-sentence to make a comical wolf-whistle sound. "Woah there, Eddie boy, seems you've acquired some new body jewelry since we last saw you."

 Ed felt his face heat up. Jim blinked in surprise, he had been too focused on the DNA samples to notice.

 "Hey, I'm not judgin'," Harvey continued, "Did some pretty college girl working at one of those mall kiosks rope you into it? They can be pretty pushy."

 "Uh, no, I was at a tattoo parlor. It was kind of spur of a moment thing, to be honest."

"what were you doing at a tattoo parlor?" Harvey asked with interest, leaning against the steel table in front of him.

 "Getting a tattoo."

 " _Shit._ Are you kidding me?" Harvey blustered, "Where?"

 "A place called Fish Mooney's. It's in the theater district."

 "No, Ed, I meant where on your bo--did you say Fish Mooney's? Damn, Fish and I go way back, as a matter of fact."

 Jim watched the conversation silently, eyes darting back and forth like he was at a tennis match.

"Really?" Ed asked.

 "Yeah. Don't tell me she did your ink herself?"

 "No, it was another artist--Oswald."

 "Penguin," Ed clarified, when he was met with a confused look.

 "Ah, Fish's young  _protégé_. Talented kid, I've seen some of his stuff."

 "Yeah. He was...he was really nice."

 At Harvey's insistence he unbuttoned his shirt and showed them the tattoo on his chest, still covered in cling wrap. 

 "They're, um..." Ed begins to explain.

 "Kristen's glasses?" Jim asked, already knowing the answer.

 "Yes."

 They were silent for a moment.

 "This is probably just about the sappiest things you'll ever hear out of me," said Harvey, uncharacteristically serious, "but that's really sweet, Ed. Genuinely. You know I mess around from time to time, but I do think you're a decent guy. Just so you know."

 Ed was stunned. "Thank you detec--," he paused. "Harvey."

 Even Jim looked touched, his eyes soft as he regarded his partner.

 The tender moment only lasted so long, until Harvey decided that right that moment, in the forensics lab, was the perfect time and place to slip off his tie and unbutton his shirt to show off some of Fish Mooney's own work, which included (but wasn't limited to) a large, intricate Celtic cross and a Sailor Jerry style pin-up mermaid with star fish covered breasts.

Harvey pointed to Jim. "Can you believe this guy spent so long in the army and wasn't talked into even one bad tattoo."

 "You know," Jim deadpanned, "I didn't wake up this morning thinking I was gonna see this much skin. I should've gone back to bed."

 "Oh, we know you're loving the view, boy scout," Harvey fired back cheekily.

 For the first time that he could recall, Ed laughed along with his coworkers' familiar banter. 


	2. A Bird in the Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Wouldn't have struck me as a cop." Fish said to Oswald, almost as if Ed wasn't standing a few feet away. 
> 
> "Forensic scientist," Oswald corrected, at the exact same time Ed began to.
> 
>  She glanced from Oswald to Ed. "Oh, how interesting."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad I can add some tags for female characters now with this update :) Some good mood music for the beginning of this chapter might be "Sparrow" by Simon & Garfunkel.

In the weeks and months following Ed's singular visit to Fish Mooney's Tattoo parlor, his life eventually receded into it's usual monotony. 

 That wasn't to say that his life was boring; Ed's work was always immensely interesting to him, each new crime scene proving to be an increasingly intricate puzzle for him to help unravel. Yet, he had been throwing himself deeper into his work and spending more time at the station than necessary, seemingly anything to distract himself from the memory of his late girlfriend. 

 In the first few months after her death, he had agreed to the mandatory grief counseling only on the condition that it was with Dr. Thompkins. He trusted her, as someone with a high degree of psychological training, but also as a friend. The only thing he had argued with her about was she had suggested that he take a very significant amount of time off of work, that he should maybe get away from the city for a while, even.

 She had argued, rightfully, that working on crime scenes or in the morgue could be potentially triggering or traumatic. He had argued that returning to normalcy, back to one's usual routine, was important for those dealing with grief. In the end, he had mostly won out.

 He thought about Oswald, from time to time. When he was simply going about his day, or when he caught a glimpse in the mirror of the now-healed tattoo on his chest. It was strange, he thought to himself, how such brief of an encounter had left such a strong mark on his memory--and not simply because it had involved him making a dramatic permanent alteration to his body. 

 Ed supposed that it was because he so rarely felt comfortable around strangers right away, and just talking to the tattoo artist had put him at ease. Even his growing camaraderie with his coworkers, especially Jim, Lee, and even Harvey (to a lesser extent), hadn't come as easily. Ed suspected that it was partially spurned forward by their sympathy for him. He tried to shake the uncomfortable thought from his head, as he returned his focus to the problem laid out in front of him.

 In the past two months, Detectives Gordon and Bullock had been spending an immense amount of time working on a very pressing case. Three young women had been abducted from different parts of the city, seemingly without rhyme or reason. All three had little in common besides age and gender, with the exception of a single dead sparrow at the scene of the crime. 

 The first one had been overlooked, as the abduction had taken place in Gotham Park. No one had suspected that the small dead bird lying in the grass nearby had anything to do with what they were investigating, until a similar token was found at the second site.

 Ed currently held the third sparrow delicately in his gloved hands. It had been found mere hours ago, and he was glad for the chance to examine it more closely under the bright fluorescent lights in the forensics lab. He held it close to his face, studying the perfect array of gray-brown feathers. Even while dead, it was a beautiful creature. Like the other two, it had no outward sign of injury or immediately obvious cause of death.

 For the past months the detectives had been focused on the symbolism of the sparrows, bringing in all sort of experts on birds and their representation in literature and mythology. Ed had wondered to himself if the specific condition of the bird would gives them more clues, as opposed to the purpose of its presence.

 Ed blinked in surprise as he gradually noticed the slight rise and fall of the animals body, as if it was still breathing. He let out an undignified yelp as the bird's wings started to unexpectedly flutter against his fingers, trying to escape the confines of his hands. 

 He heard a knock on the door before Leslie Thompkins stuck her head around the corner of it, an eyebrow quirked in concern. "I was walking by and I heard a noise."

Ed held his hands out for her to see, careful to not let the bird fly away. 

 "It's alive," he told her emphatically, sans context. 

 If the situation had been less serious, Lee might have chuckled at his unintentional Victor Frankenstein impression. It wasn't the first time she had mentally compared the two.

 "We should call one of the bird experts," she said.

 "Yes. Probably. But first, could you help me try something?"

 After she had shut the door behind her and pulled on a new pair of gloves, he motioned for her to cradle her hands, depositing the sparrow into them. It chirped weakly, as if in complaint at the movement. 

 "Wasn't it sealed in an evidence bag before it got here? Wouldn't it have suffocated?" Lee looked skeptically at the bird in her hands.

 "I was just thinking that...perhaps it was sealed incorrectly. For the first time ever, I can say I'm grateful for the occasional act of GCPD negligence. Only the occasional one, though."

 The comment drew a wry chuckle out of Lee.

 "Previously," Ed continued, "We had been under the assumption that the perpetrator didn't kill the birds himself, but merely found already deceased birds, going by the estimated time of death for the second bird as compared to the time of the abduction. But, due to their untarnished appearance I suspected that he was in fact drugging the birds to death, maybe using spiked bird seed, for example, to attract them. This particular bird only ate so much, simply sedating itself temporarily. I think if we find out what exact drug was used on the birds, it could give us a lot more information on the kidnapper."

 Nearly an hour later, after they managed as a team to gently swab the bird's mouth and run the chemical sample, Ed used the phone in the lab to call Gordon and Bullock's desk.

 "The birds found at the crime scenes were drugged and killed with a rare chemical that's primarily used in taxidermy. You might be looking for a taxidermist or someone who stuffs animals as hobby," he explained to Jim, resisting the urge to phrase the information in the form of a riddle.

 "How the hell didn't we piece that together?" he heard Harvey's muffled voice ask in the background of the call, before Jim thanked him and hung up.

 

He nearly forgot about the whole ordeal until a week later, when a middle aged woman with perfectly coiffed gray curls approached him at record speed, nearly knocking a file from his hands.

 "This is him, detectives?" This is the young man who saved my Emily?" She turned to Jim and Harvey, who had been following her as quickly as they could.

 "That's him." Jim had barely gotten the words out before the woman had wrapped Ed in a tight hug. He felt himself freeze for a second, before he patted her back politely.

 "The three girls in the sparrow case," Jim explained, "we found all of them--alive. Mostly thanks to your taxidermy tip off."

 "It was some nutjob who escaped from Arkham a while back, had been doing a good job of hiding under the radar since then," Harvey added on, "worked as a taxidermist before they originally put him in. He was planning to sacrifice them all to some kind of mystical bird god on the next full moon. Luckily, they're weren't seriously physically harmed."

 Ed felt the surprise on his face. Most cases like this had much worse endings. Even when they didn't, most of the heartfelt thanks usually went to the detectives. The woman finally released him, taking his free hand into both of her own.

 "I don't know what I could ever do to thank you."

 "I w-was just doing my--" Ed fumbled with his words, "I'm so glad to hear your daughter is safe."

 The woman squeezed his hand tighter.

 

Ed thought about the encounter on his drive home that evening, the warm gratifying feeling still sitting heavily in his chest. He wished he could hold on to it forever. 

 Even the after-work traffic in downtown Gotham couldn't curb his good mood. He turned onto a side street, deciding to take a longer way home. He flicked on the car's aging wind-shield wipers as it began to rain. As he cut through the theater district, he could see a familiar neon sign through the haze. Without thinking, he stopped his car and parked on the opposite side of the street. 

 It seemed that he was making a habit out of being oddly spontaneous.

He crossed the busy street, clutching his coat tighter against the rain. Once he was inside, droplets of water still clung to his hair and the lenses of his glasses. No one was behind the counter, so he waited for a moment, intently studying the flash sheets on the walls. His eyes gravitated towards one that he recalled from his last visit. 

 A sharp cough behind him caught his attention, and he turned to face a surprisingly elegant looking woman, with streaks of crimson in her short hair. From her air of authority, Ed had a sneaking suspicion that she was the esteemed proprietor and namesake of the establishment. The bold Japanese style koi fish adorning her sternum was also a clue.

 "May I help you?" Each syllable was sharp and poised, as she eyed Ed up and down. He realized that he probably looked like a bit of a mess from the wind and rain.

 "I noticed you were open for another hour," he nodded his head toward the hours posted on the door. "Do you do walk-ins? If not, I can make an appointment and come back," he added hurriedly.

 "It seems it's your lucky day. We do. Something on the wall catch your eye?"

 "Yes, I know what I want, actually. Is, uh, Oswald working right now? He was my artist the last time I was here."

 She turned towards the entryway to the adjacent room and called out to someone Ed couldn't see, making a come hither gesture with her well-manicured fingers. 

 "Oswald, don't pack up quite yet, you have a client."

 The two of them were left in silence for moment as they waited. Ed coughed into his elbow awkwardly.

 "You're Ms. Mooney, right? I have a coworker who said he was an acquaintance of yours--Harvey Bullock."

 Fish regarded him curiously. "A friend of Harvey's, eh? Tell him Fish says 'hello,' then." 

 She turned to Oswald as he approached, placing a casual hand on his elbow. "A last minute walk-in for you, looks like you'll be closing up again."

 "Oh, Ed. It's nice to see you again." Oswald smiled shyly at him.

 Ed was surprised the tattoo artist remembered his name. He probably saw so many clients a month that Ed wouldn't have thought he had left any impression at all, let alone a positive one. 

 "Wouldn't have struck me as a cop." Fish said to Oswald, almost as if Ed wasn't standing a few feet away. 

 "Forensic scientist," Oswald corrected, at the exact same time Ed began to.

 She glanced from Oswald to Ed. "Oh, how interesting." 

 Ed wasn't entirely sure that she was commenting on his choice of career.

 "Well, well," Fish continued, "things to do, people to see...you boys must excuse me."

 They both politely bid her good night as she left the shop. 

 "She reminds me more of a cat than any aquatic creature," Ed observed, his voice a perfect deadpan, once she was out the door.

 Oswald silently chuckled, seemingly taken by surprise at the remark."Here, let me get your coat."

 He helped pull the damp wool from Ed's shoulders and hung it on a coat rack by the door. He whistled at the charcoal gray suit Ed was wearing underneath. "Someone looks sharp today."

 "Oh, thank you," Ed murmured, slightly embarrassed, "I just came from work."

 "Do forensic scientists always dress this nicely?"

 "Only to get tattoos," Ed joked, pleasantly surprised at how easily the banter flowed between them.

 "So you just came straight from work and now you're getting another one, huh? Seems you've really been bitten by the bug."

 "I guess you could say that." Ed noticed Oswald's hair was slightly longer than the last time he had seen him, choppy bangs just touching his eyebrows. 

 "You told Fish you already had something picked out, right?"

 Ed pointed to one of the flash sheets on the wall. It was signed "Penguin" at the corner, in large flowing cursive.

 "Though sometimes you can't see me, I always rise with the sun. You're subject to my singing before the day is done. What am I?"

 "Are you asking me...a riddle?"

 "Sorry, it's a habit of mine. I meant--"

 "No, wait," Oswald studied the various images on the sheet. "A bird? The sparrow!"

 "Yes," Ed grinned.

 They returned to Oswald's station. Ed loosened and pulled off his tie without being prompted. His suit jacket and shirt followed, both of which he folded and laid on a nearby chair as Oswald prepared the stencil. 

 Ed wished it was a bit warmer in the shop, he could feel his nipples pebbling in the cold. He thought that the long-sleeved tee shirt that Oswald was wearing looked worn and comfortable.

 "Are the colors from the flash sheet fine, or did you want different colors on this?"

"No, the colors looked great." Ed thought the red in his previous tattoo would compliment the red breast of the sparrow. 

 Oswald studied his bare chest. "So, where are we putting this, exactly?"

 Ed motioned towards his right pectoral. "Level with the other one. Unless you think it would look uneven, because the glasses are a bit bigger?"

 "No, I think it would look great. Right here." He tapped Ed's skin gently, just slightly higher than Ed had imagined.

 Ed nodded. "I trust your judgement."

 "So does the bird hold some sort of specific meaning for you, or did you just like the way it looked?" Oswald asked a few moments later, as he applied the stencil. "There's no shame in getting something just because you like the look of it, of course, just as long as you're sure about it."

 "There is a bit of a story behind this actually."

 In between shrill bursts from the tattoo machine, Ed recounted the events from the past weeks and earlier that day as Oswald listened intently. The process became a comfortable rhythm, as the rain continued to beat steadily outside.

 Oswald wiped Ed's chest a final time before leaning back to admire his work.

 "That's amazing."

It took Ed a second to realize Oswald was talking about the story, not the tattoo. He was still distracted by the dull, residual pain, and was beginning to feel slightly light headed.

 "I was just doing my job..." Ed faltered, suddenly conscious of Oswald's gaze. "But, to be honest, it was the first time in a long time that it felt like what I was doing really mattered. That I was helping somebody. I'd been feeling so...numb, for the longest time."

 Oswald listened, his brow knit in concern. "Then you feel something that suddenly reminds you that you're alive. And it feels like how it used to feel, before, and you'd do anything to chase that feeling and hold onto it."

 Ed nodded, astounded. "I had almost been pretending that my life was some bad dream I was going to eventually wake up from. As hard as it is, it's better to acknowledge that it's not." He felt like a floodgate had opened. It was something he hadn't even expressed to Lee.

 "It took me a long time to realize that." Oswald replied. He looked down, studying his shoes as if suddenly self conscious. Ed wanted to reach out, to do something, but he wasn't sure what. His hand hovered half way between them.

 "Oswald--" he began, at the same time the tattoo artist started to say something.

 "Sorry, you first," Ed interjected, mostly out of habit. How had he only now just noticed the light dusting of freckles across the bridge of Oswald's nose?

 "I don't normally...I mean, I wouldn't normally ask a client this but...would you want to go out for drinks sometime?" 

 "Yes. I'd like that." 

 Oswald blinked, his mouth half open as if it was the last answer he was expecting. 

 "Really? I mean, great! I have this friend who's in a band, and they have this gig at bar downtown next Saturday...you like sort of older music, right? They're a rockabilly group, at least that's what she told me. I've never seen them perform before."

 "Okay, that sounds like a lot of fun."

 Oswald smiled giddily at him. "Okay." They were both quiet for a few seconds.

 "Do you have to close up the shop soon?"

 "Oh. Yeah, yeah, let me wrap this up for you." He quickly refreshed Ed on how to take care of his fresh tattoo before ringing him up at the counter.

 "I suppose I won't be able to talk you into a belly button piercing this time either." Oswald joked, his voice still slightly shaky.

 Ed smiled. "No, but it was worth a shot. Maybe one of these days I'll surprise you." he wasn't sure where the sly quip had come from.

 "Oh." Oswald looked nearly as light headed as Ed felt. He spotted a notepad on the counter in between them, and pulled a pen out of the mug next to it.

 "Here," he told Oswald, "Let me give you my number so you can text me the bar's address."

 "O-okay."

 As he made to leave, Oswald hurried out from behind the counter to help him with his coat. Once it was on Ed, he smoothed the front of it, careful not to press down where he had just been tattooed. "I'm...looking forward to next weekend."

 "Me too. Thank you, again."

 "You're very welcome."

 Oswald watched through the glass of the door as Ed crossed the street and got into his car, before he flipped the open sign to closed. It had stopped raining outside.

 

"You look like you're in a good mood today."

 "Oh, good morning, Dr. Thompkins. I didn't hear you come in." Ed hadn't realized he had been smiling as he worked.

 " _Lee,_ Ed. Please." she gently corrected.

 "Good morning, Lee." He stepped out of her way as she unlocked one of the cabinets behind him, retrieving a tray of vials. "By the way, I need you to sign off on a few of these reports by the end of the day," he added.

 "Of Course. That reminds me, I'm dragging Jim to this jazz concert in Gotham Park next weekend. We thought we would invite a few people from work, especially because the ticket sales go to charity. Are you doing anything on Saturday?"

 "Sorry, as a matter of fact, I am. I'm going out for drinks with my tattoo artist that night. It was kind of you to invite me, though." Oswald had come up briefly in their conversations before, and Ed was sure that Jim had probably regaled Lee with the anecdote of Ed and Harvey's previous impromptu body art bonding session. 

 "Oh, that's fine. Good for you, Ed." She signed the two packets of paper that Ed had slid across the counter to her. "You know, I have a cousin who's about your age--Phil. He's very sweet. If I had known you dated men as well I might have tried to set you up with--"

 Ed dropped the beaker he was holding. Luckily, it only fell a few inches to the counter and toppled onto its side with a loud clattering noise. "I'm sorry, what?"

 "Maybe I misunderstood. You did say your tattoo artist was a man, right?"

 "Yes, he is, but it's not...a date. It's just that we were talking a lot, and we got along pretty well, and then he invited me to see his friend's band because he thought I would like the music, and then I gave him my phone number..." he trailed off. "I mean, guys just go out for drinks sometimes. Platonically." He could hear the uncertainty in his own voice.

 "How about you tell me exactly how that conversation happened, if you don't mind." 

 Ed could hear her slipping into her helpful therapist voice. He recounted as much of the evening to Lee that he could remember, or at least as much as he was comfortable with.

 She nodded when he was done, almost more to herself than him. "Ed, If I was this guy, I would probably think that you had agreed to go out on a date. It's a simple mistake, if you're not comfortable with that you should probably call him back when he texts you. It might feel awkward, but it's the polite thing to do."

"Of course...Thank you, Lee, I don't know what I'd do without you."

 

 He didn't have to wait long for the text from Oswald. His cellphone vibrated on his bedside table as he was sprawled across his bed, reading a book before he planned to go to sleep. He carefully put his bookmark in between the pages and set it aside before looking at the recent text messages on his phone. There was one from a phone number he didn't recognize.

_Hey, this is Oswald. The bar I was talking is about on the corner of 5th and Maple, it's called Cherry's._

 As Ed gazed at the screen, a new message from the same number appeared.

  _I can't wait to see you again._

 Ed's breath caught in his throat. He wasn't very good with social cues, but he could at least tell that this confirmed Lee's theory. His finger hovered over the call button, hesitantly.

 He remembered how much he had enjoyed Oswald's company. He couldn't deny he had a strong desire to see him again, and it wasn't very likely that he would see him any time soon otherwise--unless he went back to the shop to get another tattoo, which he certainly wasn't planning on. Ed knew that just because he was being asked out, it didn't mean that he had to do anything he was uncomfortable with, of course, Oswald was certainly a gentlemen. What could it hurt if he gave this a try?

 Against his better judgement, he fired back two quick texts.

  _Cherry's...5th & Maple...roger that._

  _Same here :-)_

 He watched the reflection of neon light seeping through his blinds as he drifted off to sleep, a knot of nervousness firmly rooted in his stomach. He dreamed of pale green eyes and calloused but gentle hands ghosting across his skin. He didn't remember much of it in the morning.


	3. Unchained Melody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad I've finally had time to work on this AU again! Because I've mentioned so much specific music in this fic, I'm compiling a playlist which I'll post with the next chapter. 
> 
> Whether you've been following this since I first posted it, or you're just checking it out now, thank you for reading!

Ed was rarely distracted by outside matters while he was absorbed in his work, but despite his best efforts, the prospect of his upcoming date remained at the forefront of his mind for the rest of the week. "Date" was the only word he could call it now, and despite his own uncertainties and reservations, it still sent of bolt of excitement through him.

 Even Lee seemed to pick up on this subtle change in voltage, but she had the decency to not ask any questions until halfway through the week. He had most of his attention focused on the blood stained glove he was studying under a microscope as she was making final adjustments to her Medical Examiner's report, while simultaneously peppering him with questions about the crime scene. 

 "Where was the glove found, again?"

 "In the upstairs bathroom, not with victim in the living room." he muttered, silently observing the pattern of the blood splatter.

 "And, uh, how did things leave off with your amorous tattoo artist friend?"

 "Well, I--" Ed's eyes snapped to hers, realizing that she was possibly trying to catch him by surprise.

 "I was just curious, Ed." she said softly, and any agitation he had felt ebbed away.

 "I just...did what you suggested. He seemed a little embarrassed, but I think we were both glad we cleared that up." He forced a placid smile to his face, hoping Lee wouldn't study him too closely. For some reason, the lie had come to him instantly.

 "I'm glad I could help, then. Or maybe I just robbed you of a couple free drinks," she chuckled good naturedly, "anyway, does that mean you wanted to go to the jazz festival with Jim and I? Harvey'll be tagging along, of course. And maybe Officer Mcnealy too--Kelly. You know her, right? Sort of sandy blonde hair..." she made a gesture like a short bobbed haircut. "From what I've heard she's rather well read, on top of that infamous left hook of hers, of course."

 Ed blanched. "That really does sound nice, Lee, but I was thinking of having a quiet weekend at home. I hope you understand."

 "Of course. You have been putting in a lot of extra hours recently. Speaking of hours, I was thinking something seemed odd about our John Doe's supposed time of death..."

 He smiled at her again, this time without needing to force it.

   
When Saturday rolled around he was a mess of nerves. He stood, freshly showered and wrapped in a bath towel, sifting through the depths of his closet. Intellectually, he knew that you probably didn't dress in any significantly different way on a date with a man than on one with a woman, but he was still at a loss for what to put on. Part of it was that he was almost a little intimidated by Oswald's own style, seemingly cool without effort. 

 He felt a warmness come over his face as he remembered Oswald's compliment--and admiring low whistle--for his suit the last time they had met, the exchange now imbued with new meaning in Ed's memory. He couldn't see how he had been so oblivious then.

 The entire situation brought him back to when he and Kristen had first started dating, how he had fretted over every little thing. His hand went to the smooth outline of her glasses on his skin, inches from his heart. The gesture had become a habit of his, something to calm himself in moments like these.

 In the end he decided to set out the one pair of jeans that he owned, a button down checked shirt, and a pair of shiny brown leather dress shoes. From the back of his closet he fished out a bomber jacket, the leather just a few shades darker than his shoes. It was something that had caught his eye at a thrift store, vintage but in great condition. The store owner clearly hadn't seen its true value, if the flimsy price tag hooked on the zipper had been anything to go by.

 Since its purchase it had gone unworn, almost forgotten. He liked the way it looked but he had also wondered if the bulky leather jacket would have been too flashy compared to the rest of his wardrobe, almost wannabe edgy. Spotting it among his tweed blazers and soft cardigans, Kristen had once remarked that it looked like something her ex-boyfriend Tom might have worn, her beautiful lips curling into a frown.

 He did his best to dispel the memory from his mind as he pulled it on and surveyed the entire outfit in the mirror. He looked...good, standing with as much confidence as he could muster. Or at least he thought he did. And he hoped that Oswald thought he did too, a small voice in the back of his head insisted.

 He carded his fingers through his hair before checking Oswald's text messages for the millionth time and finally stepping out the door.

 Luck seemed to be in his favor as he found street parking just a block away from the bar--a near miracle in downtown Gotham. Ed noticed his hands shaking as he pushed coins into the meter. He used the short walk over as a chance to calm himself, his hands buried in the pockets of his jacket, which sheltered him from most of the evening's chill.

 As he approached Cherry's, he spotted Oswald standing near the front door, dressed in dark ripped jeans and a darker leather jacket, one hand wrapped around the handle of a walking cane. The red cast of the bar's neon sign matched the pinprick of light at the end of the cigarette he was smoking. 

 Ed watched from a distance, mapping the edge of his profile against the darkness of the city street with his eyes as Oswald took another drag. After a moment, Oswald shot a glance in Ed's direction and noticed him. He beckoned him over with a small wave, the cigarette pinched between his fingers. He put it out in a receptacle by the door before Ed walked over. 

 "Hey, Ed," Oswald clapped him warmly on the shoulder, "how's it going?"

 "Good," Ed nearly stuttered, "really, uh, good."

 He gave Ed an appreciative up and down glance. "I like the jacket."

 "Oh, thank you. I don't actually wear it that often." They were standing close now, and Ed could smell the remnants of smoke on Oswald's breath, mingling with a pleasant cologne. He wanted to return the compliment with another, but he wasn't sure exactly what to say. Would it be too forward to tell Oswald he looked nice, handsome even?

 "We should probably get inside and find a table. Ivy said she'd tried to find me to say 'hi' before her group's set started."

 "Right, sure." Ed followed him in. 

 The venue itself had a dark, eclectic vibe and was flooded with a wide mix of clientele, from a group of bearded bikers at the bar, to a cluster of women seated in a booth who might have come straight from office jobs, going by their suits and ties.

 They found a tall table with two chairs near the far end of the bar with a good view of the elevated stage. He was surprised when Oswald pulled his chair out for him, not bothered but actually rather charmed. Oswald hung the short strap of his cane on the corner of his own chair after he sat himself across from Ed. He smiled at Ed shyly, glancing down at the table as if he was at a bit of loss for words.

 "It's a neat looking bar," Ed ventured, "I don't think I've heard of it before."

 Oswald nodded, "Yeah, it has a great atmosphere. I've only been here once or twice before now."

 A waitress appeared, seemingly to save them from their own awkwardness. She had a shaved head and a perky smile. "what can I get you boys?"

 "Glass of the house red," Oswald requested politely.

 Ed skimmed the drinks menu before choosing one of the beers on tap that he recognized from the from the few times he had been invited drinking by Jim and Harvey after work.

 "Wouldn't have taken you as a wine guy," Ed said conversationally, after she had left.

 Oswald tilted his head to the side, almost cat-like, "I guess you'll have to get to know me better."

 For a second Ed felt like the breath had been knocked out of him. "I guess I will."

 Oswald smiled, before muttering something about how warm it was, and unzipping his jacket. Ed had already laid his own over the back of his chair. As Oswald pulled it off, Ed noticed two prominent raised bumps under the quick, tight pull of his tee-shirt over his chest. Were those...nipple piercings? Ed blinked. They disappeared just as quickly as he saw them when Oswald shifted and his shirt front hung slack again.

 Really, if that was the case, it shouldn't have been too surprising, Ed told himself. His eyes drifted to the piercings in Oswald's ears, all four adorned with a very small silver hoop instead of the studs he had seen previously. Out of reflex, he fiddled with one of the piercings in his own ears. He wondered if Oswald had any more. The conversation they has just had rang in his ears.

 " _Pengy!_ There you are!" 

 Ed's observations were interrupted as a young woman with a shock of red hair materialized out of the crowd, and nearly knocked Oswald off of his chair with the force of her tight hug. Oswald gave a fond, exasperated sigh as he patted her back.

 As soon as she pulled away she gave Ed a quick once over. "Ooh, is this the guy you were talking about?" She half-covered her mouth as she spoke, as if she was making a private aside to Oswald, even though she was actually speaking rather loudly to be heard over the bar's din. 

 Oswald rolled his eyes, looking slightly embarrassed. "Yes, Ivy, this is Ed. Ed, this is Ivy."

 He extended his hand and she shook it.

 "What a gentleman," she remarked, glancing from Ed to Oswald.

 "I've heard your in a rockabilly band," said Ed.

 "Yes-sir-ee," she beamed. "The Swingin' Sirens,"--she made a twisting dance move, as if to punctuate the name--"we have some original stuff but we do a lot of old covers too. Are you a Wanda Jackson fan at all?"

 "Well, I do have a couple of her records."

 "You're in for a treat, then." She glanced down at her watch, "Ugh, I gotta get going. Wish me luck you guys!'

 "You're all going to be great," Oswald told her reassuringly. She gave him a quick, sisterly peck on the cheek before she left, waving at them with both hands as she retreated. "Have a nice date!"

 "She seemed nice," said Ed.

 Oswald let out a huff of laughter. "Yeah, she's my best friend. I actually met her the same way I met you. A half-sleeve, though." He made a demonstrative gesture at his own arm.

 She had been wearing a frayed jean jacket, but even though Ed hadn't seen her tattoos, he was sure they were just as beautiful and well-executed as the rest of Oswald's work.

 "Speaking of your work, how's that been? Have you had any interesting clients lately?"

 "Well, I can certainly think of one, but he's sitting right in front of me."

 Ed giggled self consciously. "Thank you."

 They both smiled at each other for a moment, seemingly at a loss for words.

 Ed took a long swill from his beer. "I, uh, did a little reading up on your boss, actually. I didn't realize that she was such a big name in the tattoo industry."

 "Yeah, she's...Fish is something else, that's for sure. Definitely one of the best artists in Gotham. You know, when I started working for her, I had to wait for her car to arrive each morning and rush out with an umbrella to hold for her as she walked in, just to not mess up her hair. Somehow it seemed to rain every single day after I was first hired, for months and months, too. And that's just the tip of the iceberg, when I think of all the ridiculous stuff I had to do. It was like being the personal assistant for a celebrity."

 "Wow, and you put up with that? I suppose because her shop's so prestigious."

 "Mostly, yeah. But that was about seven years ago, and things have really changed. I think she actually has quite a bit of respect for me now, even if she doesn't show it in the most obvious of ways. Besides, she was never half as bad as the guy I worked for before."

 "Really?" Ed was completely engrossed with Oswald's story.

 "When I just first started out, like, really just started--sweeping the floor and filling ink cups and stuff--I worked at a different shop, for this guy named Sal..." He fiddled with one of the cardboard drink coasters that sat on the table, "and actually, um, I haven't told a lot of people this, but I guess I just feel really comfortable talking to you. So...I was in a relationship with him. We were fucking--that's probably a more accurate way to put it. And picture this guy, like twenty years older than me, established, not to mention married. And I felt really bad about it too, because of that. But he sold me all this bullshit about helping me with my career...and I thought I was so savvy. Like I was really in control of the situation." He shook his head. "I was an idiot."

 The shock must have shown on Ed's face.

 "I hope you don't think less of me after hearing that. But I guess you already knew I had some baggage." Oswald quirked his mouth into a smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

 "Oswald, I--No, of course not! How could I think less of you for being taken advantage of, by your employer no less. That's...that's horrible, and you deserve so much better than that." Instinctively, he reached out and put a hand over Oswald's. Ed's mind reeled as he realized he had once said nearly the exact same thing to Kristen, what felt like a life time ago. His own mouth grew dry as Oswald intertwined their fingers and spoke to him.

 "You're really sweet, you know that? And if it's any consolation, the guy's shop closed down, and he's actually in prison--for some stuff that had nothing to do with me."

 Ed nodded distractedly. "Speaking of...past relationships, I never told you how-" Anything he might have said was drowned out by the loud, static hiss of microphone being adjusted on stage.

 "Sorry about that, ladies and gents," purred the blonde woman behind the microphone. Her hair was curled and tousled, in a style not unlike Marilyn Monroe's. The rest of her outfit gave a similarly retro effect. "Well, any who, I'll cut to the chase: I'm Barbara Kean, and these lovely ladies are the Swingin' Sirens. Hit it, girls!"

 She was flanked by a base guitarist with and long, slicked back ponytail and a leather jacket, along with the woman Ed had met earlier, playing a regular electric guitar with a sparking green front. A younger woman, maybe a teenager at second glance, was behind them sitting at a drum kit, her caramel curls bouncing each time she hit the hi-hat.

 Ed was impressed when Barbara began her rendition of "Funnel of Love," hitting all the notes with ease. He found himself tapping his foot to the beat. He dully remembered what he had been about to tell Oswald, but decided that the proper moment had passed.

 "They're really good," Ed told him instead.

 Oswald nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, so that's Babs," he pointed to the bassist next, "and her girlfriend, Tabitha. And the girl on drums is an old friend of Ivy's, from when they were real young kids, I guess."

 Ed nodded at each of these introductions. Oswald had pulled his hand away to gesture at each of them, but placed his hand back over Ed's when he was done, his thumb rubbing soft, errant circles against Ed's wrist. Neither of them mentioned it directly, but it felt comfortable and organic casually touching each other as they spoke.

 Over the course of the next few songs, Oswald asked him about his own work, and he launched into a summary of some of his more recent, unique cases, along with stories about Lee, Jim, and Harvey. He was surprised by just how many anecdotes he could supply, realizing how close he had become with his coworkers in recent months. Oswald laughed easily at nearly anything he had to say, especially the retelling of how Harvey had spontaneously taken off his shirt in the forensics lab to display Fish's work.

 "Did you say something earlier about collecting records?" Oswald asked him a while later, apropos of nothing. "That's something I've been thinking of getting into. Not that I even have a player yet." They were on their second round of drinks, another glass of wine and a coke for Ed, who knew he'd be driving home.

 "There's actually a great record store, maybe five blocks from here. It's where I've procured most of my collection--I think they even sell some decent used turn-tables."

 "Maybe you could take me there some time."

 "Okay, I'd like that."

 Ed's gaze drifted out towards the bar's dance floor, where a small crowd of couples had started swaying to the slow song the band had just begun. He recognized it, but the name of it, strangely enough, wouldn't come to the tip of his tongue.

 "Would you want to dance?" he asked shyly. 

 Oswald didn't immediately respond, and Ed realized belatedly that it might have been awkward or even rude for him to have asked. His eyes flickered to where Oswald's cane hung from the back of his chair.

 Oswald caught the glance. "Yeah, I think I could manage a slow dance. I might have to lean on you a bit, though," he added with a coy wink. 

 "Okay," Ed stuttered.

 "You know, most guys ask about the cane on the first date..." Oswald told him as they stood and moved towards the dance floor.

 "I'm not sure what I would ask. What it's made of, maybe? My first guess would be aluminum."

 Oswald threw his head back and laughed.

 As they approached the dance floor Ed noticed that not only some, but most of the couples dancing appeared to be the same sex. He marveled at his own obliviousness, not realizing he had been in a gay bar all night, but was simultaneously relieved that he and Oswald wouldn't stand out or attract unwanted attention.

 Just as quickly as he turned to face him, Ed felt Oswald's arms gently wrap around his neck. The strap of his cane had been looped around Oswald's wrist, and it hung like a comfortable weight against Ed's back. Tentatively, he moved his own hands to Oswald's waist and held them there as they began to sway.

  _"My darling...I've hungered, hungered for your touch...a long, lonely time,"_ Barbara crooned on the stage above them, her voice receding into white noise in Ed's ears. Everything besides the two of them seemed to fade into the background as Oswald pressed closer to him. 

 Ed wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, simply enjoying each other's company and moving gently to the lilting melody. He let out something like an unexpected gasp when Oswald pushed in even closer, their chests barely touching. Ed could feel the warm puffs of breath against his own neck.

 "You know, I've-" Ed murmured, fumbling with his words. Oswald gazed up at him, owl-like. "I've never actually been on a date with a man, or...or anything like this before." 

 "Really? You could have had me fooled." Oswald's tone was teasing, but cautious.

 "I suppose I've just never had the opportunity."

 "Well, thank God, I came around."

 Ed chuckled warmly. He wondered if Oswald could feel it against his chest.

 After another few seconds of contented silence, he noticed Oswald arch up towards him, and he closed his eyes out of reflex, thinking that Oswald was going to kiss him. Instead, he felt the quick, chaste press of Oswald's lips to his chin. He opened his eyes, blinking in surprise.

 "I'm taking it slow, for your sake," Oswald said in way of explanation. He gave a coquettish wink, and Ed could only laugh heartily in response.

 They stayed on the dance floor for another song, even when the music's pace had picked up slightly. Oswald tucked his head against Ed's neck as they continued to sway back and forth. Ed silently reveled in the feathery softness of Oswald's hair against his jaw, and the pleasant scent of his shampoo.

 "I won't deny I'm not having a wonderful time, but I think this is enough dancing or me, for one night," Oswald told him a few minutes later when the couples around them started doing the twist.

"Okay. Would you want a ride home? I drove here."

 Oswald studied him for a second, and Ed realized that he probably hadn't meant for the date to be over, just that they should go back to their table.

 "Sure," Oswald finally answered him, "I'll just pay for our drinks before we head out."

 Ed nodded, and followed him away from the dance floor. He and Kristen had often gone dutch when they had started dating, at her insistence, but Ed didn't think he had ever been on a date with someone where the other party had entirely paid for it. It was strange, gradually realizing how traditional his way of thinking had been, when he hadn't originally believed that to be the case. 

 They both pulled their jackets more tightly around themselves as they departed into the cool night air. Ed hadn't actually realized how late it was, and it was one of the few times he saw so few people out on the city's streets. A glowing moon hung in the sky, swollen and nearly full.

 "That's beautiful," Ed found himself pointing out. They both gazed at it from the street corner, as they waited for the light to change. Oswald hummed in agreement, "It certainly is."

 Oswald gave him directions to his apartment as they crossed the street and approached Ed's car. Ed opened the passenger side door for him, hoping it wouldn't seem like a patronizing gesture. Oswald slid into seat with a smile.

 "What type of car is this?" He asked Ed, once he had slipped into the driver's seat. 

 "A 1964 Chevrolet Nova ," Ed chirped excitedly, "Actually, it was technically referred to as the Chevy II until 1969. Apparently, there's a common urban legend that the Nova wasn't successful in Spanish speaking countries, because its name sounds like the phrase "doesn't go," but in fact that's largely untrue."

 "That's interesting," Oswald said fondly. "I like the front seat." He gestured towards the bench seat they were both sitting on, one long upholstered bench that made up the driver and passenger's seats instead of individual ones.

 "Oh, yes, it's a sort of bygone feature. This style went out of fashion maybe a decade or so after this car was produced, partially due to the influence of European sports cars in the American market."

 Ed noticed that Oswald had casually slung an arm over the back of the bench seat, his hand resting by Ed's left shoulder.

 "You know, if we head west towards your apartment, we'll actually pass by mine first."

 "Oh. I hope I'm not making you drive too far out of your way, I could-"

 "No! No, sorry, I just meant, uhm, if you maybe wanted to stop by mine for a cup of coffee, or something, maybe look at my record collection like you said you wanted to..."

 "Yes." Oswald answered as quickly as his words had began petering off. "Yeah, okay."

 "Okay." Ed smiled at him. After a moment he registered the fact that he should probably start the car and begin driving. At his invitation, Oswald fiddled with the radio, and they drove in a comfortable near-silence through the tired city. The soft hum of music was the only thing occupying the small fraction of space between them.

 "Well, here it is," said Ed as he pulled into his building's adjacent parking garage and maneuvered into his usual spot. As soon as the car had stopped, Oswald scooted closer to him, his seat belt already unbuckled, and pulled Ed into a kiss.

 Ed froze for a second, gaping against the sudden contact of Oswald's lips, before gradually leaning into it and returning the exploring, rhythmic pressure. It occurred Ed all at once how real this was, that it was really, physically happening--as if the prior events of the evening had only been a muted dream.

 Distantly, he heard a groan from deep in his own throat. He felt Oswald's tongue swipe insistently at the closed seam of his lips and his hand now gripping Ed's thigh. The touch shocked him, as if it carried an electric charge. Suddenly it was all too overwhelming, all too much.

 He jerked away from Oswald, who in turn pulled away as if his hand had been burned.

 "I'm sorry, I'm just...I'm not sure I can do this," Ed whispered, his breathing ragged.

 Oswald's mouth was slack with confusion. "No,  _I'm sorry_...I shouldn't have-" he fumbled for the right thing to say, "You know, I wasn't kidding when I said I could take it really slow, if you wanted me to. Or, maybe you're not even into guys--I mean, there's no shame in trying something and not liking it, Ed, and-"

 "No, I don't think that's it," Ed cut him off.

 "What?" Oswald furrowed his brows in confusion.

 Ed let out a deep breath. "I just don't think I'm ready to do this again...so soon after Kristen."

 "Wasn't that almost a year ago, now?" Oswald looked mortified as soon as the words had left his mouth. "Shit, shit, I'm sorry, that was really fucked up for me to say."

 "I never told you how she died," Ed told him, as if he hadn't even heard Oswald's comment.

 "What do you mean?"

 "Her ex-boyfriend killed her. He despised me, hated that we were together. And she's dead because I wasn't there to protect her."

 Oswald's breath caught in his throat. "Do you think something's going to happen to me?"

 "No!...Maybe...I mean, no. It's just...I'm not ready to even open myself up to the possibility of that again, I suppose. I'm sorry, Oswald."

 Tentatively, Oswald laid a hand on his shoulder. Ed reluctantly raised his gaze to meet his eyes. 

"Ed, you have absolutely nothing to apologize for. And, for what it's worth, you're a really wonderful guy, and I'm so grateful that I met you. What happened to your girlfriend...isn't your fucking fault--it was his. You deserve to heal from that, and maybe I'm just not the person to help you do that. Or maybe it's something you need to work out on your own. Either way...goodnight, Ed. I can get a cab home. Take care." Oswald gave him one last comforting squeeze on the shoulder, before opeing the passenger side door and getting out of the car.

 Ed watched in stunned silence as Oswald walked towards the parking garage's elevator and eventually disappeared from view as its doors shut behind him. He could still feel the ghost of Oswald's lips against his own, along with the phantom touch of his hand, the sensations as tangible as if they had been tattooed into his skin.


	4. You smiled at me (and really eased the pain)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He browsed contentedly through the new arrival crates, enjoying the challenge of finding music he liked in the varied jumble of eras and genres. He had accumulated a small stack under his arm, grateful that the used records were reasonably priced. As he carefully slipped a Lesley Gore album out of a particularly tight packed crate, a man's figure across the shop caught his attention.
> 
> Ed peered over the record to see choppy, ink black hair, as the man bent forward to study a display of discounted cassette tapes. He felt himself holding his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I'm quite proud of myself for finally finishing this, it's easily my longest fic to date :) 
> 
> Because I mention so much specific music, I've made an accompanying playlist on 8tracks, so feel free to check that out...(https://8tracks.com/babetclaquesous/yesterday-my-life-was-filled-with-rain-an-ed-oswald-au-fanmix)
> 
> Also, let me know if you would be interested in seeing some other short works in this same verse, eventually, maybe from some characters' perspectives other than Ed. Once again, thanks for reading !

Ed ran his fingers through his hair in abject distress, mussing it from the neat style he had spent so long trying to achieve earlier that night. His jacket felt heavy where it was slung over his shoulder, as he trudged up the stairwell to his loft. He tried to convince himself that the cooling sweat under his arms and the uncomfortable, empty feeling in the pit of his stomach were only from exertion.

 He slumped onto his bed the minute he had shut the heavy steel door behind himself.

  _"Good job, Eddie, there's one more relationship you've completely fucked up,"_ a malicious voice in the back of his head insisted, as tangible as if there was another person in the room speaking to him. Ed fought the irrational urge to cover his ears with one of his pillows.

 No--he had done the right thing, he tried to tell himself. It was too much...too soon. A day never went by where he didn't think about her. It wasn't fair to Kristen's memory to move on already!

  _"Hm, I wonder if you would still have your knickers in such a twist over this right now, if he had been a woman?"_

 What? he mentally snapped, almost muttering the word aloud. What was he even asking himself? If he thought being with Oswald was some insult to what remained of Kristen, to the lingering fantasy of the white-picket-fence-perfect future he had envisioned for the two of them? 

  _"A decidedly--straight--future,"_ the irksome voice reminded him.

 Was that really why he had been so overwhelmed by Oswald kissing him? It came over Ed like a wave, just how badly he had really wanted him to. He had wanted Oswald to do more than that, even--"if you maybe wanted to stop by mine for a cup of coffee, or something, maybe look at my record collection like you said you wanted to..." his mind quoted back at him, cruel and mocking. 

 He rolled over, and pressed the heels of his hands against his closed eyes until he saw stars. Light pouring in through the windows woke him the next morning, and he found himself still wearing the same clothes from the night before. 

   
 

"Ed, are you doing alright?" 

 Ed blinked owlishly at Lee. He hadn't realized he had been staring blankly at the lab report he was supposed to be filling out.

 "Yes...yes, why do you ask?"

 "I just want to make sure that you know that if you're going through something, and you want someone to talk to, I'm always here."

 Was he that easy to read? Ed wondered to himself. He supposed he had been so chipper over the past week that this new bout of pensive silence seemed unusual, especially to a trained professional like Lee.

 "You know you're not my grief counselor anymore, not technically." he replied, just a little too curtly. His own words almost made him cringe.

 "That is true, but I'm also you're friend, Ed."

 "Lee I'm...I'm sorry."

 "It's fine. It's okay," she put up a gloved hand placatingly. "I'll need that filled out by the time I'm finished with the autopsy," she added, almost as an afterthought.

 Ed nodded. The lab seemed unbearably silent as soon as she left, in a way it hadn't been before. He wished he had brought his portable radio to work, like he had sometimes in the past, just to fill the empty space with music or words or even the buzz of static. 

 The thought stayed with him the rest of the day, and he resolutely decided to visit his favorite record store after he got off from work. It was at least something to try and cheer himself up. 

 

As he packed his personal effects and a few papers he needed to take home from his desk and into his messenger bag on his way out, the sight of his cell phone brought the insistent urge he had been fighting back to the surface. He had deliberated all weekend as to whether he should try and call Oswald and attempt to remedy the situation. No matter how he tried to evaluate the state of affairs, he figured that it was an unmitigated disaster. 

 What would he even say to him?-- _"Hi, Oswald, by the way, I think I've changed my mind about still being traumatized by my last romantic paramour being brutally murdered--no big deal. And if you don't think I'm completely insane, we can try for a second date, and this time I might not even have a panic attack when you try to kiss me. Or maybe I might, who knows? I'm only a thirty year old man seemingly having a life crisis about my sexuality, less than a year after the worst thing that ever happened to me and-"_

 He took a deep steadying breath, his palms flat on his desk, staining to push the train of thought from his head. 

 The patter of raindrops across the car's roof was almost relaxing as he made the short trip to the shop. It was a place he more often visited on the weekend, but he knew he still had about an hour long window to browse before it closed.

 He let the tension drain away as he mindlessly sifted through the multitudes of vinyl filled crates. The shop had an eclectic feel to it, but was clean and well taken care of. Some 70's hard rock song he didn't particularly care for hummed in the background, but Ed took it in stride as another piece of the atmosphere, just like the chatty teenagers in the corner, or the aging metal head that always sat behind the counter with a dog-eared Fender Guitar catalog.

 He browsed contentedly through the new arrival crates, enjoying the challenge of finding music he liked in the varied jumble of eras and genres. He had accumulated a small stack under his arm, grateful that the used records were reasonably priced. As he carefully slipped a Lesley Gore album out of a particularly tight packed crate, a man's figure across the shop caught his attention.

 Ed peered over the record to see choppy, ink-black hair, as the man bent forward to study a display of discounted cassette tapes. He felt himself holding his breath. The man accidentally caught his eye as he straightened up--but his face was all wrong, too round and soft, with starkly different features and dark brown eyes. He looked away from Ed uncomfortably, and the moment had passed. Ed slipped the last record onto his stack and made his way to the register.

 To his mild surprise, the man who had seemed to be a permanent fixture at the counter wasn't there, but was replaced by a cherub-faced woman in her twenties, her hair dyed peach-pink. He found himself uncharacteristically annoyed as she made small talk while ringing him up. 

 "Wow, I gotta say you picked out some great stuff here. It's always cool to see people my age who like some of this older music, ya know...do you, um, come here a lot? I'm sorry, you just look sort of familiar..." she glanced at Ed shyly from under her lashes.

 "No, not really," Ed answered flatly. "How much will-"

 "Oh," she glanced at the register, "$32.98." 

 

He held his purchases tightly against his chest as he made the trek back to his car, having forgotten about the rain, and having curtly refused the cashier's offer of a plastic bag for an extra five cents. During the car ride home he tried not to mentally linger on how flirtatious her tone had been, or how in different circumstances he might have reacted quite differently to it.

 He hadn't had much else planned for the evening, so once he returned to his apartment he made some tea and put on one of his new records, barely glancing at the cover. Languidly, he stretched out on the sofa with a steaming cup and sat to watch the gray haze of the city through his windows. 

 As he began to really listen to the track playing over his stereo, he recognized it as the original version of what would later be covered as a popular disco song about a decade later--this first rendition of it was slower and soulful, almost sad at the beginning but increasingly full of hope. 

  _"Sunny...yesterday my life was filled with rain...sunny...you smiled at me and really eased the pain..."_

 He felt the hot sting of tears in his eyes, and for the first time in a long time, he let them flow without fighting it.

 

   
"Ed! There you are," Harvey swung an unexpected arm over his shoulder as he was just about to leave the precinct. "It's been a long day. Why don't the two of us hit up O'Sullivan's, huh?"

Ed knew Harvey was talking about the cop bar that he and Jim frequented. "Sure, I guess. Is Jim coming?"

"Nah, doing something with Lee. That boy's whipped I'll tell 'ya," he added conspiratorially. 

 Ed rolled his eyes, but all the same let Harvey man-handle him out the door.

 "Did Lee ask you to talk to me?" Ed asked him suspiciously, just as soon as they had sat down in a booth at the pub, with two pints and a bowl of pretzels between them. 

   
Harvey raised an eyebrow. "As a matter of fact, no. But I am a detective, you know. And if something's eatin' at ya, Uncle Harv is all ears."

 "First off, please don't call yourself that."

 Harvey chuckled, pushing another handful of pretzel into his mouth.

 "Second," Ed hesitated, "I, uh, went on a date the other weekend, for the first time since, well, you know...but I really messed it up."

 "Damn," Harvey whistled, "Lady problems, huh? Well you certainly came to the right place."

 It took Ed a second to register that Harvey had said 'lady.' Oh. Of course. He decided not to over complicate things by correcting him. Harvey was watching him expectantly, waiting for the rest of his story.

 "Well everything was going perfect, almost too perfect. We went to this bar, and saw this great band, and danced...and then we were going to head back to my apartment, actually-"

 "Ed, you sly dog..." Harvey briefly interjected.

 "But then I kind of...freaked out? I was worried that it was too soon after Kristen. I guess I just thought I wasn't...ready to be vulnerable with someone like that again. So it ended really badly, but now I wish it hadn't because I really, really liked him and-" Ed paused suddenly. He definitely hadn't meant to say that.

 Harvey cocked his eyebrow again in something like mild surprise, but overall didn't seem to be shocked. "Well, there's only one thing you can do and that's..." He trailed off, catching sight of something over Ed's shoulder. 

 "Hey, how's it going?" he called out to someone who had just walked in the door. Ed craned his neck to look, but he heard a familiar voice before he even saw him. 

 "Detective Bullock," Oswald greeted him brightly. 

 "You can just call me Harvey. Hey, I think you know Ed, by the way." Harvey nodded across the table to him.

 Ed and Oswald both froze, staring at each other.

  _How did Harvey figure out that I was talking about..._  Ed's mind began to wander, before he remembered telling him that Oswald had been his tattoo artist. As far as Harvey knew, that was all he was to Ed.

 "Hi, It's been a while," Oswald said to him politely, "How's uh..?" He made a gesture towards his own chest.

 "Oh, good...good. It looks like it's healing perfectly."

 Oswald nodded. "That's great to hear."

 "Hey, man, why don't I buy you a drink," Harvey offered, "Ed, scoot over a bit, will you."

 "Well, I don't want to bother you guys," said Oswald.

 "It's no problem," Harvey told him, before cryptically murmuring to Ed, "We can talk more about...what we were talking about, later, if that's all right."

 Ed nodded reluctantly, and Oswald squeezed into the small booth next to him. They were pressed thigh to thigh for a split second, before Oswald quickly adjusted himself. Harvey beckoned the waitress over and ordered him a beer.

 "You know, I told Ed a bit about the shop I used to work for, but I didn't mention how we had met, or what a debt I still owe, in fact." said Oswald.

 "Hey, I was just doing my job," Harvey replied, taking a deep swill of his drink. "Kid used to work at a place called Maroni's," he said in explanation to Ed, "I had been staking the joint out for months. Turns out the tattoo shop was just a front for all sort of dirty businesses--drugs, guns, anything you could imagine.The owner had some serious ties to organized crime. And it's still a wonder no one got seriously ill from all of the shop's health code violations, on top of that."

 Oswald turned to him to finish the story, and Ed was almost so distracted by their closeness that missed the rest of it. "Harvey was the only cop who believed me at first when I said I didn't know about all of that, and that I was only a tattoo apprentice. Not only did he save my sorry ass from being thrown into Blackgate, he even hooked me up with a job at Fish's place. If anything, I should be buying the drinks here."

 "Wow," Ed whispered. He had never heard anything about this before from Harvey, and it had possibly been before he had stared his own job at the GCPD.

 Across from them, the detective shrugged. "Well, Ed can tell you that I'm usually the only voice of reason down at the precinct-" (this earned him a sardonic snort from Ed) "-and Fish and I kind of had a thing going on back then--it was the logical thing to do to send some young talent her way."

 "Still, I'm very grateful," said Oswald.

 As Ed watched Harvey's eyes crinkle in a warm smile, he garnered a new level of respect for his colleague. 

 Harvey gave another shrug, almost sheepishly. "I gotta take a leak," he said, swiftly ending the emotional moment. "Why don't you guys catch up a minute." 

"I'm sorry, I can leave if you want me to," Oswald told Ed as soon as Harvey was out of earshot. He made to get out of the booth.

 "No! No...actually, I really need to talk to you."

 "What?" Oswald blinked at him. Ed had forgotten just how beautiful his eyes were. God, he had it bad.

 "I need to apologize...for how things left off."

 "Ed, like I said, it's not your fault."

 "No, but I still..I still really messed things ups. Truthfully, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since that night. I guess I've just been to much of a coward to try and call you..."

 "What are you trying to say, Ed?"

 He put a hand on Oswald's where it rested on the table, like he had at the other bar. "Will you go out with me again, give it another try?"

 Oswald's gaped in surprise. "Do you think you're ready for that?"

 "If I'm not now, I don't think I'll ever be." Ed told him honestly.

 "Okay...yes, yes I want to. If you're sure." He turned his hand over to properly clasp Ed's fingers, a tentative smile spreading across his face. He looked as if he thought he was dreaming.

 Ed was surprised when Oswald suddenly jerked his hand away, before he noticed Harvey returning.

"I wasn't sure if you didn't want him to see." Oswald murmured quietly to him, in way of explanation. 

 Ed's heat sank as he realized Oswald had probably done so out of instinct. He wondered if Oswald had been harassed for similar displays of affection before.

 The three of them chatted casually for while before Oswald eventually excused himself. 

 "Thanks again for the drink, Harvey," he said, steadying himself with a hand on Ed's shoulder as he got up out of his seat. Ed wasn't sure if it was purely out of necessity. 

 Harvey gave him a jovial mock salute in farewell.

 "I'll call you...about that thing." Ed told Oswald, his gaze pointed.

 Oswald grinned. "I look forward to it."

 Ed couldn't help but grin back.

 "You looking to get another tattoo?" Harvey asked with mild curiosity.

 "Yeah, maybe." Ed tried his best not to laugh as he said it.

 Harvey nodded. "So, uh, about this fella of yours..."

 "I think I figured out what I need to do." Ed told him confidently. 

 

 Excitement thrummed under Ed's skin like electricity as he pulled up to the curb in front of Oswald's apartment, and spotted him already waiting outside. It was a clear, cloudless evening, perfect for what he had in mind for their date. He had told Oswald over the phone it was going to be a surprise, only that he should dress comfortably. 

 Oswald waved to him, apparently equally excited to see Ed. Out of habit, Ed got out to open the passenger door. His date paused in front of him, instead of getting in.

 "Looks like someone got a haircut," Oswald observed. Tentatively he reached out to brush his fingers against the side of Ed's scalp, where the hair was now buzzed short. The sensation made Ed shiver.

 "Does it look okay?" Ed asked nervously. His barber had been surprised that he had wanted anything other than his usual trim.

 "It's very striking," Oswald told him.

 Ed could practically feel his ears going pink. "You look really handsome, I mean, you always do," he said, flustered.

 Oswald laughed, looking down at the worn hoodie and comfortable pair of jeans he was wearing. "For all you know, I just rolled out of bed." More seriously, he added, "But, thank you, Ed." He slipped into the car.

 "Soo, where are we going?" Oswald asked a few minutes later, when Ed had pulled on to a side street that would take them towards the city's outskirts. 

 "It's still a secret, and it's going to take a little while to get there because it's a bit out of the city."

 "Hmm, okay. You know, if this is some elaborate plot to kidnap and murder me, you've really been playing the long game. I applaud you."

 Ed shot him a glance, before they both broke out into sly laughter. He appreciated that Oswald seemed to share his darker sense of humor.

 The conversation came easily as they drove, Ed almost forgetting about how their last date ended. Oswald resolutely didn't bring it up.

"Voila!" Ed exclaimed with a bit of flourish, as they finally pulled off the road.

 Oswald peered out the window. "A drive-in theater! Wow, I didn't even know they still had these."

 "They do if you know where to look for them. In truth, I haven't been here before, but I read that they were doing horror double-features all this month, and it piqued my interest."

 "Mr. Nygma, I am thoroughly impressed."

 Ed giggled in response.

 After they paid for admission and Oswald had bought a box of candies from the concession stand, they parked near the back of the lot and settled in for the first movie. Ed fiddled with the radio until he landed on the shortwave frequency that would play the film's audio in their car. After a few ads, the large screen transitioned into flickering black and white, as the title of a retro horror B-movie flashed across the screen.

 "Oh my gosh, I think I've heard of this before," said Oswald, "Isn't it famous for being super campy?"

 "Mhh hm, I saw it on TV a couple years ago, it's pretty unintentionally hilarious."

   
"Oh? But is it scary at all? I might just need someone to hold on to, if that's the case," Oswald replied cheekily.

   
"I think that can be arranged," said Ed, feeling a bit brave as he put his arm over the back of the seat behind Oswald, who immediately leaned into his embrace, nestling his head against Ed's shoulder. Ed couldn't help but notice how nice he smelled.

 As the night progressed, he was glad that Oswald didn't seem bothered by his running commentary and fun facts about the movie. If anything he seemed genuinely entertained.

 "Hey, that's the guy who plays Dracula," Oswald whispered to Ed, before popping a lemon candy in to his mouth.

 "Yup! A lot of people think he put on a fake accent to play that role, but it was really his authentic Hungarian accent. He doesn't speak in this short role, though."

"Both of my mom's parents were from Hungary, actually." Unlike the other time he had talked about her, there wasn't a trace of sadness, only pride.

 "That's really neat!" 

 "I'm glad you think so," He paused when a gaunt, vampire-like woman appeared on screen, "I think the Misfits wrote a song about this actress," he said, pointing.

 "Oh? I have to admit I'm not as acquainted with the finer points of punk music as I could be. Maybe you could play it for me sometime."

 "I think that can be arranged," Oswald echoed coyly. Ed snuck a fond sideways glance at him, Oswald's eyes still on the movie screen in front of them.

 They talked until their words eventually dissolved into uncontrollable laughter, as plastic flying saucers, obviously hanging from strings, descended on to grainy stock footage of downtown Los Angeles. The only time in recent memory that Ed had been having this much fun was when he and Oswald had slow danced at Cherry's.

 He felt a slight pang of distress when Oswald unexpected leaned out his embrace, until he realized it was only for him to shuck off his hoodie. Ed quietly observed where the back of Oswald's tee-shirt rode up, exposing a few inches of pale, bare skin. Oswald tugged it back into place before returning to Ed's side, muttering something about having been warm.

 As Oswald watched the film, Ed hesitantly reached out to trace the tattoos on Oswald's arm with his finger. Unlike his own, they had probably been fully healed for years; they didn't feel any different from the rest of Oswald's smooth skin. Ed was especially fascinated by the image of an open umbrella with rain drops pouring from it, along with a heart-shaped lock and key.

 "Could I kiss you?" Ed asked suddenly. 

 Oswald turned his head, practically incredulous. "You're asking me?"

 "I'm assuming that's a 'yes'."

 "Yes--God, yes. But only if you-" Anything he was going to say drifted away once Ed leaned in towards him.

 With an arm still around his shoulder, Ed pulled Oswald into a gentle kiss. He surprised himself by clutching his fingers in Oswald's hair, pressing deeper into the kiss. Oswald groaned as Ed caught his bottom lip in his teeth, teasing it gently. 

 Ed pulled away. "Is that too much?"

 "Are you kidding? I've wanted you to do that since we first met."

 "Really?" Ed asked, his breath still hurried. "Well, I suppose you were quite eager to get my shirt off."

 Oswald childishly slapped his arm. "That was part of my job." 

 Ed cackled. Oswald dragged him forward by the front of his sweater, effectively silencing him with the press of his lips. Ed couldn't help but melt in to it, faintly tasting the sour sweetness of the candies Oswald had been eating.

 Fumbling with what to do with his hands, he let one come to rest at Oswald's hip, his thumb brushing the skin under the hem of his shirt. Oswald let out an appreciative noise, and daringly Ed let his hand creep under the fabric, exploring the quivering plane of Oswald's stomach. 

 Ed let his hand wander even higher, and Oswald gasped into his mouth as he brushed against something cool and metallic. Ed had completely forgotten what he had noticed before at the bar. 

 "Oh my," he whispered, intrigued. Oswald laughed sheepishly. 

 Ed grazed his thumb more purposefully against Oswald's nipple, mapping out the small, straight barbell that ran through it. Oswald's eyes fluttered closed as he suppressed a groan. "They're..very sensitive," he murmured in explanation.

 Ed kissed him again, using his other hand to ruck up Oswald's shirt so he could feel both piercings at the same time. Spurned on by the noises Oswald was making, he dipped his head down to take one of them in his mouth. He lapped at the pert nipple curiously, the metal of the piercing growing warm under his touch.

 "Oh...fuck," Oswald grunted somewhere above him.

 After a moment, Oswald put a hand on his chin, prompting Ed to meet his gaze again.

 "Not that I don't really, really love the direction that this is going...I just have to say I'm a little surprised, considering how we left off before. And I also just kind of remembered we're in a drive-in theater." He added the last part with a shaky laugh.

 Ed couldn't help but laugh too. "I've had a bit of time to reflect, and I think the other time...I wasn't just paranoid about what happened to my girlfriend. I mean, that was definitely part of it, but I also think I was sort of...overwhelmed by how I was feeling about you."

 "And how was that?"

 Ed swallowed. "Very...very physically attracted to you. I mean- I mean not just physically, of course, I like you a lot, in a more general sort of..."

 He grew quiet as Oswald placed swiped his thumb across his cheek, the touch calming him.

 "I was serious when I said we could take this slow. And just so you know, I like you a lot too."

 Ed grinned. "What if I don't want to take things slow?" Cautiously, he let his hand travel from Oswald's knee up the length of his thigh, transfixed by how it flexed under his touch. 

 "That can be arranged," Oswald murmured huskily. Taking Ed's hand in his, he guided it the rest of the way to the half-hardness in his jeans. Ed made a noise as if he were the one being touched.Clumsy but eager, he tried to stroke him through the thick fabric. Oswald whimpered.

 "Why don't we, uh, take this someplace a little more private?" he asked Ed.

 Ed instantly withdrew his hand. "Sorry, sure. Shoulder I drive back to your place, or mine?" 

 "I was actually imagining something a bit different..."

 Ed froze in confusion as Oswald opened the passenger side door and stepped out of the car. He let out a breath of relief when the door behind it opened and Oswald slid into the back seat, shutting it behind him.

 "For a second I was afraid you were just going to walk away," Ed huffed.

 Oswald gave a sharp bark of laughter. "Well, I couldn't exactly crawl over the seat, that would have been hell on my ankle."

 Ed glanced out the side window. They were parked near the back of the lot, near to where a small wooded area began. The nearest car was a considerable distance away, and Ed couldn't really make out its passengers in the darkness. He hoped the same would be applicable to them. 

 He turned the volume on the radio up just a bit, before pulling off his shoes, setting his glasses carefully on the dashboard, and climbing over the seat to join Oswald. 

 Losing his balance slightly, Ed landed squarely on top of him with a grunt, Oswald's back now pressed to the seat. 

 "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

 "No," Oswald laughed.

 "This is kind of exciting," Ed whispered conspiratorially.

 He bent down and kissed Oswald, letting Oswald slip his tongue past his lips and explore the inside of his mouth.

"Only kind of?" Oswald asked when they broke for air. He hooked his thumbs in Ed's belt, pulling Ed's hips flush against his own. Ed shivered at the strange sensation of a twin hardness against his own. His body moved reflexively, grinding down against it.

 "God, yes." He heard Oswald murmur through clenched teeth. He pulled at the back of Ed's sweater as they moved against each other, desperately trying to touch the hot skin beneath it. 

 Ed sat up on his haunches, only slightly self-conscious as he pulled the green sweater and accompanying undershirt off and over his head in one movement. Oswald let out an appreciative hum. Ed locked eyes with him, startled by how utterly entranced Oswald looked.

 "Admiring your own work?" 

 "I'm admiring a lot more than that. God..." Oswald ran his hands reverently up Ed's sides, very gently brushing the two tattoos that adorned his chest. As far as Ed could tell, they were healing perfectly, and only the sparrow was still shiny, and dry to the touch, the skin having finally stopped peeling like a sunburn. 

 Ed used the different position as an opportunity to snake a hand in between them, kneading the heal of his palm against Oswald's erection. Fingering the button of his jeans, he shot Oswald a searching glance.

 "Please," Oswald huffed. Enthusiastically, Ed popped the button and eased down the zipper and was rewarded with the sight of Oswald straining in his briefs. He could feel his own heart beating rapidly in his chest. 

 Oswald squirmed as he delicately traced the outline of the length with his finger, before finally taking the plunge and pulling them down. Oswald shut his eyes, his head thrown shyly to the side as he felt the cool air against his skin. 

 Ed involuntarily whimpered at the sight spread out in front of him. Fervently, he curled his fingers around Oswald's cock, stroking him with the same motion that he would himself, all the while fascinated by how different it felt to touch another man like this. Oswald moaned as he smeared his thumb across the wet bead of pre-come at the tip, the noise sending a jolt of heat to his own groin.

 Oswald opened his eyes. "Wait, stop for a second," he stilled Ed's hand with his own.

 "Am I doing something wro-"

 "I want you to fuck me," Oswald interrupted.

 Ed nearly choked. "What?" he stuttered.

 "Shit. Maybe I shouldn't have said that." He ran his fingers through his already disheveled hair. "I forgot you've never...and, God, you must think I'm kind of a slut now."

 Ed frowned. "You really shouldn't call yourself that, it's an archaic term used to shame people for their sexual desires."

 Oswald laughed, despite himself, at how serious Ed's tone was. "Okay."

 "And I didn't say I didn't want to. Quite the opposite, in fact." Ed added, doing his best to try and sound sensual about it.

 "Really?" Oswald's pitch was so high his voice nearly cracked. "Fuck. Okay. Yeah, yeah. I mean, if you've been with women you've probably got the, uh, basic motion...down."

 Ed nodded. He was almost painfully hard in his trousers.

 "I have a condom in my wallet," murmured Oswald, shifting to dig around in his back pocket, "and lube. Like, in these little packets--there was a bowl of them at my doctor's office and I grabbed a bunch, so...shit, I just realized it might not even be the right size for you." He glanced down at the sizable tent in Ed's pants.

 "Oh. I have a polyisoprene condom in my wallet, actually. I use them because I have sensitive skin, and I'm allergic to-"

 "How long have you been carrying that?"

 Ed knew the wrappers could get creased or torn from being carried around over time, he assumed that was what Oswald was concerned about. "I just put it in tonight."

 "So, you thought we were gonna..."

 "The possibility crossed my mind, yes."

 Smiling incredulously, Oswald pulled him hungrily into another kiss, and Ed eagerly obliged. He worked a hand in between them and undid Ed's belt, slipping it out of the loops. Ed groaned when he Oswald finally unzipped his fly and cupped him firmly through his boxer briefs. 

 "Damn, someone's really packing," Oswald whispered, more to himself than to Ed. From the sudden heat he felt across it, Ed knew his face must have been beet red in the dim light.

 "Let me just, uh, get these off." Oswald squirmed, trying to shuck off his jeans. Ed did his best to help him, given the tight quarters. 

 Almost in coordination, they got what they needed from their individual wallets. Still watching Oswald struggle to pull his briefs off entirely, Ed ripped the condom wrapper with his teeth, and tugged down the waistband of his own underwear. He felt Oswald's heavy gaze on him as he rolled the condom on with shaking hands.

 When he looked up again, Oswald was spread bare in front of him, wearing just his rucked up tee-shirt, his good leg hooked over the back of the seat. Head propped up against the upholstered door, he squeezed a generous amount of lubricant from two different packets into his hand, then snaked his hand in between his open thighs to probe at his own entrance. 

 Ed thought to himself that if they had been arrested for public indecency in that very moment, it would have been well worth it jut to see Oswald like this. And to think, just three weeks ago he would have never imagined himself in any position like this.

 "Sorry, this is gonna...take a second."

 Ed just nodded speechlessly, as he watched Oswald's face contort in either discomfort or pleasure. As he added another finger, and let out a choked whimper, Ed decided it was probably pleasure. His own cock twinged sympathetically.

 "There's another packet if you want to...get yourself ready," Oswald mumbled distractedly to him, his eyelids heavy as he continued to stretch himself.

 Ed snatched it up from where it lay on the floor of the car, along with most of their clothes, and coated himself with a few clinical strokes.

 "I think I'm good," Oswald panted.

 "Are you sure?"

 "I'll be honest," Oswald murmured sheepishly, "it's been a while since I've done this with anyone else, but it hasn't been very long since I've fingered myself."

 Ed giggled nervously, slightly reassured. Daringly, he grabbed Oswald by the hips, pulling him closer to himself and away from the door so he was laying entirely flat. Still kneeling in between Oswald's legs, his condom-sheathed cock brushed pleasantly against Oswald's own. They both groaned.

 "I like that," Oswald whispered, embarrassed, "i don't mind being man-handled little."

 Ed nodded. "O-okay. Are you ready--I mean can I-?"

 "Yes, God, yes." Oswald grunted, his skin shivering under Ed's touch. Leaning forward, Ed used his hand to guide his cock gently press it against Oswald's slick hole. Impatiently Oswald rocked into him, nudging himself against Ed's tip. Taking a deep breath, Ed pushed himself in, just barely, and marveled at the delicious, tight heat around the head of his cock. 

 Oswald gasped, and Ed searched his face for any sign of pain but didn't seem to find any. Oswald pulled him down, so their chests were nearly flush. "Deeper," he gasped into Ed's ear. Keen to follow the order, Ed braced himself on his elbows and nudged himself further into Oswald, the high, reedy noises the man was making under him spurning him forward with even more vigor.

 They bumped noses clumsily as Ed tried to kiss him, the both of them laughing nervously before their lips met in a sloppy kiss. He couldn't help but jerk his hips slightly, the tightness around his completely tantalizing. He realized Oswald was doing the same thing. Ed wasn't entirely in, and he wasn't sure how farther he'd be able to push it. 

 "Fuck, you feel so good," he couldn't help but groan in to Oswald's mouth. Oswald's own expression was hazy, his eyes half-lidded. "Ed," he whimpered, "Move, already, please, I need you to-"

 Ed jerked his hips back, just slightly, and gently rocked in to him. They both gasped. 'Like that, like that, please," whispered Oswald. Kissing him again, Ed began to work up a rhythm, growing more adventuress with his thrusts as they continued. He could hear the wet slap of skin on skin even over the loud chatter of the car radio.

 Oswald clutched at his shoulders, his grip painfully tight, forcefully pulling Ed back in to himself with each movement. His head lolled back on the seat, giving Ed the opportunity to kiss and nip and suck at the pale expanse of his neck.

 "Harder," Oswald pleaded with him, wrapping his legs around Ed's backside. Ed wasn't sure how long he was going to last. Being with Oswald--being inside Oswald--was so much better than anything he had allowed himself to image. The entire car was trembling with the force of their movement.

 Ed could still feel Oswald's stiff cock, rubbing against his own stomach with each thrust, and he wrapped a hand around it in hope of giving Oswald some relief. He knew he was down to his last few pumps, hot, immeasurable pressure building low in his belly.

  _"Yes...yes...yes...yes..."_ Oswald chanted hoarsely, as Ed simultaneously fucked him and jerked him off. One of his hands came to grip tightly at Ed's hair, and Ed found the pain oddly pleasurable. 

 His face was pressed against Oswald's neck as he finally felt himself come, the sensation completely overwhelming. The movements of his hand grew jerky and staccato in his haze, but he was still rewarded a few seconds later with a loud noise in his ear and the warm drip of Oswald's come seeping in between his fingers.

 Ed stayed slumped like that for a long moment, his head buried against Oswald's shoulder as he slowly regained his breath. He was stunned. He gradually lifted himself up to his elbows to look at Oswald properly, and was shocked to see the glint of tears trickling from his eyes. 

 Hurriedly, Ed pulled out of him. "Oswald? Fuck, did I hurt you? Did I do something wrong?"

 Oswald silenced him with a hand on his cheek. "Ed, no. I'm fine--I'm better than fine." He swiped away some of the tears with his other hand. "They're happy tears, I think. It's just...I don't think I've ever been with a guy like this before who actually had genuine feelings for me."

 "Oswald..." Ed didn't know what to say. He kissed him again, trying to put all the tenderness in to it that he couldn't put into words. Gently, he carded his fingers in Oswald's hair. All at once he realized that he dreaded going home to his empty apartment.

 Tentatively, Ed asked "Would you like it if we went back to my apartment, and just slept. Maybe took a hot shower first. I could make you anything you'd like for breakfast. After this, I...I don't think I could spend the rest of the night alone."

 Oswald nodded, wiping the rest of the tears from his face. "Please."


End file.
